an inclination for being troublesome
by Miss Mungoe
Summary: It's common knowledge amongst them that Kensei is a little whipped. – Kensei/Mashiro.


**an inclination for being troublesome**

**by Miss Mungoe **

AN: Just poking a little fun at these two.

Disclaimer: I do not own Bleach or its characters – it belongs to Kubo Tite.

* * *

Kuna Mashiro was a demanding individual.

It was the first thing Kensei had thought when he had first met her, and the impression hadn't changed much in the hundred-and-something years that had passed since. Well, other than perhaps add a few more negative traits, but that's about it.

Because it wasn't as though she could wait, either. Hell, Kensei doubted she even knew _how_ to wait. The epitome of impatience, Mashiro couldn't even stand the _thought_ of waiting for something, and in their many years of service to Soul Society, it had made no difference if they were in the Court or in the middle of Rukongai on some dangerous mission – if Mashiro wanted something, she wanted it precisely one second after she had announced her desire. Say, if she suddenly decided she wanted rice cakes, she couldn't simply wait until they'd returned to Seireitei like a normal soul, and there was no shutting her up until she got them. So Kensei had always made sure to pack an extra few just in case she decided that she wanted some.

And she always did. It was like bloody clockwork.

It was the same with everything else, too. He couldn't leave on a bloody mission without her, even though she wasn't really needed in the first place. If Mashiro decided she wanted to come along – _and she always did – _there was no stopping her. And if questioned – or _ordered_ to stay behind – she would react with all the graceful maturity of a petulant child and completely disregard his orders just to get her way, even if it was just to spite him. He'd learned this the hard way early in his captaincy, and although he _knew_ there was no reasoning with her when she started behaving like a brat, he couldn't stop himself from losing his temper trying to get her to stay behind in the Court like a good vice-captain and allow him to do his damned work.

Because as it had turned out time and time again, such a thing just wasn't achievable. And so he reluctantly allowed her to tag along every damn time, knowing that he was going to regret his decision the minute they stepped foot out of Seireitei.

And he always did.

Because missions, it seemed, were no exceptions when it came to Mashiro's demanding nature, and when they were forced to share tents at night she always ended up hogging the blankets. Kensei knew she did it on purpose, too. He could fall asleep beneath his own blanket on the _other side of the tent_ from her, and wake up in the middle of the night without it, only to discover that Mashiro suddenly had _two_ blankets. He'd tried to pry it away from her once, but as he repeatedly stated, she was annoying even in her sleep, and trying to remove the fabric from her grip had been nothing short of futile. Which was why he had spent many a night in the outskirts of Rukongai, awake, freezing and arguing with himself that although killing her would give him not only one but _two_ blankets and ensure him a stable blood pressure for the rest of his afterlife, it was too much of a hassle to try and find a new and competent vice-captain.

Because although he hated to admit it, even to himself, there _was_ a good reason he had chosen Mashiro in the first place.

…there were just times when he forgot exactly _what_ that reason was.

It had to have been something that made up for her voraciousness and chronic impatience, which had only worsened after their exile to the human world. Amongst the vivid colours and bustling life of their new home, Mashiro had reached a whole new level of annoying.

It had started with their sleeping arrangements.

For the first few weeks after their exile, the eight of them had been forced to reside in the basement of Urahara's _wonderful_ makeshift home, and _of course_ there had been a limited number of futons for them to sleep on. Rose, ever the gentleman, had offered his bed to Lisa, and Mashiro being Mashiro had found the action so _terribly_ sweet she'd demanded that Kensei did the same. Looking back on it, he knew he'd had no choice, because if Mashiro wanted something, Mashiro got it. It was common knowledge amongst their rag-tag group of outcasts.

He'd also taken notice of the fact that she often wanted things she couldn't have. His lunch was a prime example, amongst many, many others. Because even though she didn't share his taste in food in the least, she was prone to sit in front of him and stare incessantly with those large eyes of hers on whatever he was eating until he relented and gave it to her, which _he always did_ because the minute she started whining about how hungry she was, Kensei knew he wasn't going to hear the end of it before throwing in the figurative towel (something which, at times, he imagined strangling her with) And it didn't matter that they both knew she would only take one bite of his lunch before deciding that she didn't want it anyway; he'd give it to her regardless.

Because he was Kensei, and he was an idiot.

Of course, this wasn't just about his lunch. Mashiro hardly ever read manga, but she always seemed to want to read when _he_ got his hands on the latest volume. And if he didn't give it to her right away, all she had to do was give him a pleading look full of watery eyes and an enormous pout and he'd chuck the magazine at her head and grumble something about how she better not ruin the plot for him, before crossing his arms over his chest and turning away. She'd grin cheerfully, flip the magazine open and skim through its contents before growing bored within the minute and handing it back.

It was routine for the two of them, much like Hiyori zealously beating the crap out of Shinji whenever the latter said something disrespectful or rude, which was pretty much all the time. And as long as the tiny blonde continued to greet the lanky moron with a sandal to the face, Kensei would continue to give Mashiro what she wanted, because if there was one thing he couldn't stand beside a crying Mashiro, it was a whiny Mashiro…the only difference being that while the former made him feel awful, the latter just gave him a headache. And despite the fact that she occasionally irritated the others with her antics, Kensei had always had a feeling she was being especially annoying towards him in particular.

He had also thought her behavior couldn't possibly get any _worse,_ but sadly, he had a habit of jinxing himself.

Crossing his arms over his chest, Kensei glared at a frightened-looking passerby openly gaping at him, all the while trying to tune out Mashiro's yapping as she all but hung off his arm. _This_ was why he hated going out in public. People stared, and Kensei didn't like feeling like a freak show on tour. And it worsened when Mashiro tagged along, too, dressed in her overly flamboyant jumpsuit and with hair that demanded more attention than a three-year-old. He wasn't the least bit surprised they attracted stares, as they probably made for a strange-looking couple, what with him looking like a street thug and her like a manga-fanatic on a sugar rush pulled straight out of a cosplay-convention.

"Kensei-meanie! You're not listening to me!"

She was right. He wasn't. Having known her for the better part of two centuries, Kensei had long since perfected how to effectively tune out her voice, and hadn't heard a single thing since leaving the warehouse. Under normal circumstances, Mashiro would just ignore him ignoring her and continue chattering about the next thing that popped into her head, but this time he took notice of an urgent and enthusiastic tugging on his arm.

He sighed, realizing that she had undoubtedly spotted something she wanted.

Wonderful.

Looking at the festivities around them, he wondered briefly how the hell she had managed to drag him along with her in the first place. He of all people should have known better. After all, festivals were amongst the worst places to go with Kuna Mashiro. They couldn't round a bloody corner without her spotting something she had to inspect, touch, try or simply _have_.

Glancing down at his former lieutenant, Kensei's gaze followed the line of her finger as she pointed at something in front of them.

"Lookie, Kensei!"

At first he wasn't entirely sure _what_ he was looking at, as all he could see was a row of cherry blossom trees and a woman holding a baby, but when Mashiro let out an elated squeal and clapped her hands together like some kind of humanoid seal, Kensei realized _exactly_ what she was referring to.

And it sure as hell wasn't the flowers.

Before he had a chance to react and grab a hold of her – and forcibly haul her back to the warehouse as fast as his feet could carry him – Mashiro bounced merrily towards the poor, unsuspecting woman and proceeded to coo and make silly faces at the infant, playing the part of the overgrown child he'd been telling her she was since they'd met. The child seemed immensely fascinated by her bright green hair and giggled in response to her antics. Cursing under his breath, Kensei was quick to follow, hoping to stop her before she did something stupid, like kidnap the brat.

"Mashiro!"

It would seem he was too late, however, and when he reached the two women he saw to his horror that the fool of a mother had allowed Mashiro to _hold_ the drooling creature, and the moment he saw her eyes light up at the unintelligent garbling the tiny thing was producing, Kensei felt his stomach drop somewhere past his knees. He knew that look.

Damn it.

"No," he warned, but it was too late.

"Kensei! I want one!"

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AN: Hey, why stop at rice cakes?


End file.
